Harry & the Pirate V: Caribbean Quests
by geekmama
Summary: Five months after the conclusion of 'The Chalice of St. Francis', an expectant Harry sends Jack to bring her the best midwife in the Caribbean, but he's not the only one on a quest in this fifth installment of the Harry & the Pirate series.
1. Chapter 1

This is the fifth multi-chaptered story in the _Harry & the Pirate_ series. The series is a post-CotBP A/U, and I wrote much of the first story in late 2003, before I even knew there was such a thing as fanfiction on the internet, lol! Many thanks to all who have let me know that you have enjoyed and continue to enjoy the _Harry & the Pirate_ stories, and to Hereswith for her mad beta skilz and constant support.

I hope to post every Sunday, and this story should be between five and seven chapters. The story begins about five months after the end of _Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis_...

* * *

**Harry & the Pirate V: Caribbean Quests**

**~ Chapter One ~**

"I'd like to propose a toast," Jack Sparrow said, standing and raising his glass. He gazed with great pleasure down the length of the carved oak table where his family and guests were seated, less according to etiquette than predilection.

Governor Weatherby Swann sat at the far end, obviously pleased to be flanked by two beauties, his own daughter Elizabeth on his right and Admiral Norrington's charming Spanish daughter-in-law, Lucia, on his left. The two young wives had been granted the indulgence of sitting beside their beloveds, as had Suzanna Owens, seated between her older brother, Lucia's Charles, and her own husband, Michael, who'd risen from skinny cabin boy to Boatswain of the _Black Pearl_ under Jack's tutelage. Across from Suzanna sat her pretty but somewhat spoiled younger sister, Julietta, currently minding her manners between Will Turner and her father, the admiral. Little Anne Norrington, seven years old now, sat on the admiral's other hand, eyes cast down on this momentous occasion – her first time dining with the grown-ups here at Island House – apparently (and understandably) terrified of being betrayed into giggles by the faces Jack's miscreant son was pulling from across the table.

Jack narrowed his eyes at Tom, and Michael Owens gave the lad a sharp reminder with an elbow.

On Jack's right, his darling Harry said, in that guilt-inducing tone common to all mothers, "Tom! Show Anne how _well_ you can behave at table!"

Anne's mother, Margaret, on Jack's left, nodded. "Indeed, you would not wish to be banished to the nursery!"

"Would too, if Anne could come," Tom had the audacity to mutter.

Jack glared, considering modes of retribution, and Harry said, "I _beg_ your pardon?"

Tom, finally summoning the wit to see that he was headed toward a lee shore, abruptly lost his sullen mien. "Sorry," he said, straightening in his chair, and had the grace to appear to be at least a little abashed when he looked at Jack. "A toast, sir?"

"Aye," said Jack, his tone too sharp. He reined in his temper and looked about him again, at all the well-loved faces. "To family and friends, and blessings great and small."

"Hear, hear!" Harry agreed, lifting her own glass of iced wine, and she patted the evidence of Jack's affection that swelled beneath her gown of French silk.

Six more weeks.

Jack felt his smile fade and he tossed off his wine rather abruptly.

**o-o-o**

Tom and Anne had been allowed to escape to their play when the ladies retired to the parlour after dinner, leaving the men to their postprandial libations according to established custom. Lady Harry sank into her favorite overstuffed chair and sighed contentedly, waving away the tray of sweets presented for her delectation.

"I couldn't eat another bite!" she exclaimed. "Just a cup of tea, if you please, Rachel."

Rachel nodded approval, but Elizabeth shook her head. "You barely ate tonight, Aunt. Are you sure you're not feeling unwell?"

"Not at all. It's only that the baby is growing so large. _You_ must remember. It's been less than a year since you were delivered of dear little William Weatherby."

"I don't really. I never did lose my appetite."

Maggie said, "I'm afraid it's due to your scant inches, Harry dear. I had some digestive difficulties when I was carrying the twins, but not with any of the others."

Harry pouted. "You are very cruel to gloat. I can't help my scant inches. I always wished to be tall and willowy. I even bought some horrid physic once, when I was a girl, and dosed myself with it for an entire summer. _Dr. Henry's Supreme Elixir, Guaranteed to achieve an Increase in Height of up to five inches or your money cheerfully refunded_."

"And _did_ they refund it, Aunt?" asked Elizabeth slyly.

Harry pulled a face at her saucy niece.

"See?" said Elizabeth to Suzanna. "That's where Tom gets it."

Suzanna laughed, but said to Harry, "Oh, no! You are exquisite, ma'am! Why, I always feel a positive _lump_ beside you."

It was Harry's turn to laugh at this, for Maggie's fair-haired daughter had a grace and beauty that was quite out of the ordinary, and even Maggie, who tried to discourage vanity in her undeniably attractive offspring, said, "Suzanna, don't be absurd. And don't encourage Harry, she is only fishing for compliments."

"Very true," Elizabeth said, with a fond smile.

"I'm not!" Harry protested. "Though thank goodness I have Jack here to make me feel beautiful. One would think he _likes_ making love to a woman swollen to twice her usual size. Oh, dear!" Harry's smile vanished and she scanned the room. "Where's Julietta?"

"It's all right, Aunt," Elizabeth said wryly. "She's gone off to Jack's library again, I believe."

"Still studying Latin? How very admirable, to be sure. She'll be turning into a bluestocking, next."

"Not at all," Maggie chuckled. "She is learning Latin to impress our new vicar at Port Royal. He is very young and good-looking, _and_ highly-educated."

"A paragon!" Harry observed.

Lucia shook her head. "He is very dull, even if he is so handsome. I find it most surprising she should be attracted to him."

"Perhaps that's why she likes him," mused Elizabeth. "She's very lively herself."

"Most girls are lively at twelve," said Maggie, with a wry smile. "She is too young to form a lasting attachment, but we've had the gentleman to dine twice now and he's taken the time to sit and converse with her in his quiet, reasonable way. She's come to fairly dote on him. His manners are just what they should be, of course, but I believe his regard for her may be genuine. If so, I'd thank God for it – she's had an eye for the most unsuitable creatures all this past year!"

Harry shook her head. "Be careful, Maggie. I remember being twelve."

"Yes, I remember you at twelve, too. It's well that Jack was out of the country by then."

"Oh, no, he wouldn't have looked at me! I was a thin little thing, with freckles on my nose."

"Harry, as much as he enjoys your person, it's you, your _spirit_ he loves. That's why he _likes making love to a woman swollen to twice her usual size_, as you say. Which is not true, by the way. You look beautiful. I'm so relieved you're feeling well this time!"

"No more than I!" said Harry. She sobered. "I _knew_ something was wrong five years ago, but there was nothing I could do, nothing Jack could have done." Sudden tears made her blink; but then she took a deep breath and smiled. "This time it's different, more like it was with Tom. I only wish I could convince Jack of that!"

There were murmurs of agreement, and Elizabeth said, "I've seen how he watches you. But surely all of us coming to visit here will take his mind from too much worry."

Harry sighed. "He vows he won't let me out of his sight. The _Pearl_'s been here somewhat over two weeks and already I feel…"

"Persecuted?" Elizabeth supplied.

"Oh, no!" Harry protested. Then added, ruefully, "Well, perhaps. Smothered in cotton wool, at least. But indeed, you must not say anything to him." She looked at all of them, earnestly. "He tries so hard - too hard, because he is usually away so much of the time."

"Aunt, it's not good for you _or_ him!"

Maggie nodded. "Elizabeth is right. I hope that James and Will can get him to see reason. Perhaps they can go out on the _Pearl_ for a few days, on a fishing expedition. With the rest of us here surely his mind will be easy."

Harry nodded, though she didn't look as though she had much confidence in the scheme coming to fruition. Then she said, quietly, "Do you know what I'd really like?"

"What?" said Elizabeth, leaning forward with a frown.

"I'd like him to go fetch Madame Juju."

Everyone stared, and then Elizabeth exclaimed, "Aunt! That's perfect!"

Lucia frowned. "Isn't that the midwife on Barbados?"

"Yes! She's very fierce, but she knows exactly what she's doing."

Maggie said, "All the women of Barbados revere her and her daughters," and then she chuckled. "Jack didn't much like her. She has no opinion of men."

"She was kinder to Will," Elizabeth said, "but yes, she attended me at William Weatherby's birth, and though I found her of the greatest help, she and Jack were not on good terms."

"They why would he bring her here, to St. Claire?" Lucia asked.

"Because he may not like her, but he trusts her," said Suzanna, who remembered much too clearly those dreadful hours before they'd reached Barbados on their way back from Italy, when Elizabeth was in such pain and fear. Suzanna wondered that her friend could speak so lightly about it, now.

Harry nodded. "I think it would make him feel better about everything, and I know it would ease my own lesser anxieties. And dear Rachel has threatened to talk to him about it herself. She knows Madame Juju, though by her African name, Yewande Zola – Rachel says that means _tranquil mother returns_, and nothing could be more appropriate."

Maggie said, firmly, "You must tell him at once, Harry. There's still plenty of time for him to sail to Barbados and back. James and Will could go with him, to keep him company. _They_ won't let him worry himself into a decline! Do you want us to help you? I daresay the gentlemen will be joining us in a few minutes."

Harry looked uncertainly at the door. "No, I don't think it would answer. Let me put it to him tonight, after we… after we retire."

"He'll be as putty in your hands," Elizabeth said, with a grin.

Harry blushed, but did not deny it. "It would be the perfect solution. And if he is not entirely convinced, perhaps you can help persuade him when we gather for breakfast in the morning."

**o-o-o**

In the event, additional persuasion wasn't necessary.

After the anticipated instance of marital relations, the stunning culmination of which could only be described by the use of the most extravagant superlatives (_Truly_, Harry thought, _this is an effect of child bearing that is never discussed – and it should be!_), Jack and Harry lay atop the sheet (the covers somehow having been shoved to the foot of the bed), holding hands and staring up at the shadowed ceiling, catching their breaths, hearts gradually slowing. Eventually Harry gave a start, realizing she'd been on the edge of sleep, and that Jack's breathing was turning to a light snore. She turned to him, and ran her hand across the smooth skin of his chest to his shoulder. "Jack…"

He woke. "Hmmm… mmm… that was good, love. So good." He rolled to face her, eyes drifting half open. "You all right?"

Harry's heart swelled, and she moved to kiss his lips, his cheeks, grieving that she might be set to inflict a wound upon him. "I'm fine. Perfect."

He smiled and pulled her close, hands roaming, but without urgency now, caressing with leisurely tenderness. She savored it, and willed her own hands to memorize the feel of him, until he said, in a low, knowing voice, "Then what's wrong?"

She froze. Swallowed hard. And blurted, "Jack? Will you do something for me?"

He drew back his head and looked down his nose at her. "Didn't I just _finish_ doing something for you, greedy wench?"

Harry laughed at that and kissed him again. "You did, and it was heavenly—"

"Not _heavenly_, don't do that sort of thing in heaven, it'd be sacrilegious, love."

"Then I, for one, won't go there!"

"And I for two, like as not," Jack agreed. "So now that we've settled the afterlife, _what's wrong?_"

Harry, seeing there was nothing for it, took a deep breath and said, "Will you take the Pearl and go to Barbados to fetch Madame Juju and bring her here to attend me when I am brought to bed?" He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed on. "Oh, Jack, it would make me feel so much better about everything, and you too, though I know you don't like her, and you could take James and Will with you, it would almost be a pleasure cruise, and you'd be back within three weeks or so, the winds would favor the voyage at this time of year, and—"

He finally put a hand over her mouth and, to her trepidation, he glared. "You want me to _leave_ you? After I've just got _back?_" And he gave her bottom a firm, rather painful pinch.

"Ow! Stop that!" she yelped, and pushed away. "How dare you, you horrid pirate!"

"Oh, horrid, am I?" he growled. "I'll show you horrid, you scurvy chit!"

There ensued a brief struggle, somewhat less than half in earnest, which Harry inevitably lost. She ended on her back with Jack awkwardly but effectively pinning her, his hands pressing her wrists into the pillow on either side of her head.

"Let me go!" she hissed, and squirmed dramatically.

He leered, his teeth very white in the dim light. He bent to speak low, provocative words into her ear, his breath tickling. "Shall I describe to you in detail what I plan to do to you after that daughter of mine is no longer there to shield you from my righteous wrath, Mrs. Sparrow?"

A delightful shiver ran through Mrs. Sparrow and, as he'd released her wrists, she twined her arms about his neck and allowed him the compensation of kissing her most thoroughly.

When at last they were settled side-by-side again, very close, foreheads almost touching, Harry sighed, unreasonably happy, and Jack said to her, "As a matter of fact, love, Will and James were saying the same thing, we spoke of it after dinner."

"_What?_" Harry looked up. "Jack! You're _awful!_"

"Horrid pirate, hmm?"

Harry pursed her lips, then felt a pang and reached up to caress his cheek. "Most excellent pirate, and I'll miss you dreadfully."

"We'll be back before you know it. And Maggie and Lizzie'll be here. You won't lack for care."

"No," she agreed, trying not to sound as sad as she suddenly felt. "I love you, Captain Sparrow."

"And I love you, Mrs. Captain Sparrow."

"Not _scurvy chit_?" She smiled.

"Never." He kissed her, once more. "Or maybe just a little."

**_TBC_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

"Ahoy there the foretop!" Michael Owens' call came drifting aloft. "Tom Sparrow, are you up there?"

"Blast," said Tom, who was indeed perched on the foretop – with Anne Norrington. She was wearing the shirt and breeches he'd loaned her –too big, but better than a gown – and Tom himself had plaited her gold hair into a long sailor's pigtail, but he suspected there would still be some objection to her having climbed so high on their second morning out from St. Claire. She'd made him promise to take her, however, and Tom Sparrow was a man of his word.

He peeked out over the side of the platform, but only Michael's wife, Suzanna, could now be seen far below on deck, staring up and clasping her hands as though Anne was about to fall and break her neck when anyone could see she was safe as houses. Michael must be climbing up the ratlines to spoil their fun. Tom said to Ann, "We're like to have company," and she winced in reply, then turned her eyes back to the glorious morning unfolding all around them.

In the dim light before dawn, they had climbed up, careful as they could be, and Tom had helped Anne through the lubber's hole. She'd settled herself on the platform next to the mast, braced against the swell, breathless but ecstatic.

"Oh, Tom! It's glorious!"

"Aye. This is where the sharpshooters are stationed during an action."

"Tell me again about the corsairs that attacked you off Africa," she'd begged, most gratifyingly.

Nothing loth, Tom had made himself comfortable beside her and had been in the midst of painting a vivid word picture of the engagement when Owens had interrupted with that hail. "Just like Owens to rise with the sun," Tom grumbled.

"He and Suzanna did go to their cabin right after supper last night."

"Hmmph. That doesn't mean they _slept_."

"But their cabin is so small. What else could they do?"

"Talk. And… wrestle."

"_Wrestle?_"

"Aye. Wrestle 'n' kiss."

"At the same time?" Anne stared, obviously trying to imagine her own parents, the admiral and his elegant wife, doing such a thing.

Tom, who had gleaned through various sources that it was more than mere wrestling but had not yet fathomed the particulars, shrugged. "That's what my mum and da do. I broke in on 'em a few times when I was little, but they didn't like it so I try not to, now. It's because they do it _bare_, and Mum's so modest."

Anne looked horrified. "Bare? _Why?_"

"I'll tell you when you're older," Tom said loftily.

"Tom Sparrow—" Anne began, hotly, but her words were cut off by Michael Owens, whose head popped through the lubber's hole.

"Aye, _Tom Sparrow!_ What the devil d'you think you're doing bringing Anne clear up here? Your da's going to have your hide, and maybe the admiral will, too."

Tom scowled. "Not unless you peach! I promised her, Michael, and she likes it, see?"

Michael looked at Anne accusingly. "You made him promise?"

In point of fact, Anne had begged to go aloft only after Tom had repeatedly extolled the joys of skylarking and now she appeared to be speechless at the possibility of immanent consequences. But to Tom's relief she nodded firmly, her chin at a defiant angle.

Tom's mouth twitched against a relieved grin, but he said to Michael, "I'm to blame, if there's blame to be laid."

"It'll be _laid_, all right, if your da gets wind of it, and Mr. Gibbs'll be up on deck in five minutes. Move over. If Anne can hold on tight as a monkey we'll take a backstay down."

Michael ascended the platform and stood to scan the vast horizon. The clouds were every shade of red imaginable, save in the southeast where the vivid color faded to a distant darkness. He stared, frowning. "Sit tight," he told Tom and Anne, and he pulled out his fine spyglass, the one Tom and mother had bought as a birthday gift for him in an expensive shop in Italy. One arm 'round the mast, Michael studied that darkness in the southeast intently, and at last he said, "There's lightning flashes amid those clouds."

"A storm?" Tom asked, his blood rising. He loved the noise and motion of a storm at sea. He was his father's son in that.

"Aye, a good one from the look of it." Stashing his spyglass, Michael turned and said, "All right, Anne, up you go, and hold fast!"

He crouched to take her piggyback and Anne complied with such zeal that Michael laughed. "Come on, Tom, before she chokes me!" He grabbed a backstay and slid away, and Tom followed suit, unable to refrain from giving a little yip of delight during his rushing descent. It was mere seconds before they were on deck again.

Suzanna hurried toward them. "Anne! How could you?" she scolded, taking advantage of her prerogative as grown up sister.

But Michael, bending to allow Anne to regain her feet, said, "She's fine, love."

And indeed, as he straightened, Anne grabbed Michael's hand. "Thank you! That was beyond _anything!_"

"Told you she was a right one!" Tom grinned, and then gave a startled _ooof!_ as Anne attacked him with a happy hug.

"Thank you, Tom," she said, and when she released him she gave him such a glowing look that Tom was struck anew at how pretty she was, for a little girl.

"Well!" said Suzanna. "It seems you're none the worse for risking your life. You are a fortunate girl, Anne Norrington."

Anne tuned to her sister. "I am! You should make Michael promise to take _you_ aloft, Suzanna!"

And Suzanna finally smiled. "Perhaps I will, at that."

Michael gave a chuckle, but said, "It'll have to wait. There's a bit of nasty weather on the horizon. Feel how the swell's increasing already? Come on, we've got to tell the captain."

**o-o-o**

Jack already knew, as any good captain would.

"Glass's been dropping steady this past hour. And lightning, you say? I'd best get on deck." He slid back his chair and got up, but stood by the table where breakfast had been going forth and gulped the last of his coffee. "Ah, that's good. Anatole's a genius, even with something as simple as this."

"There's nothing simple about coffee," James said. "It's an exact science." He stood, as well, but frowned at Anne, who was hanging back, holding Tom's hand, and dressed in some of the lad's clothing, too. James said, "Tom Sparrow, you've not risked my daughter's life climbing into the maintop, I trust?"

"Oh no, sir!" said Tom, far too innocently.

"See that you don't." James turned to Will. "Are you coming. Turner?"

"Yes, I'm with you." Will grabbed the last two pieces of toast, putting one in his teeth and folding the other to stuff in his coat pocket, then followed James out the door.

Jack lingered a moment, eyeing Tom. "Took her up to the foretop, did you?"

Tom's guileless phiz cracked a bit, though he kept mum. Anne's expression, however, was disastrously transparent.

Jack briefly shook a finger at his son, but then negated the effect by musing, "Not but what your mother might've lost her fear of heights if she'd had some early training." Really, it was startling how his thoughts could waft him back to St. Claire and Harry, all in an instant. He gave himself a mental shake, and scowled at the pair of young scallywags before him. "You two watch yourselves. You _don't_ want to give me reason to regret bringing you along. Savvy?"

"Aye, Da," said Tom, and Anne nodded, both equally earnest.

Jack said, "You'll stay in here, Tom, and take care of Anne and Suzanna. I'll send Anatole with more breakfast - the galley fires'll have to be put out soon if I read the signs aright. Mr. Owens, are you coming, or staying in here to take your ease?"

"I'm with you, Captain," Michael said, but it was seen that he first took the time to kiss his pretty wife.

**o-o-o**

Suzanna Owens was a seasoned sailor. As a young girl she had traveled from England with her widowed mother and her siblings to find a new life in the Caribbean - which had indeed materialized, thanks to the good fortune that threw them in the path of Captain Sparrow, Lady Harry, and best of all, Commodore James Norrington, mother's beau when she was a girl and now mother's beloved husband, and father to her six children. Then, only five months ago, Suzanna had returned from a much longer voyage, eighteen months on the _Black Pearl_, virtually a protracted honeymoon, for though she'd been very young, she and Michael had been permitted to marry just before the ship had embarked for England and, ultimately, Italy.

Storms were a part of life at sea, yet in spite of vast experience, Suzanna disliked them nearly as much as Tom and his father enjoyed them. Moreover, within a remarkably short space of time she realized that the current instance of inclement weather was something quite out of the ordinary. She and the children had barely finished breakfasting when the wind, which had been rising in pitch throughout the meal, suddenly became a veritable shriek and the ship heeled alarmingly, sending crockery skidding across the table.

"Whoa!" Tom exclaimed, grabbing at the plates and mugs, which were fortunately empty now. He grinned at Suzanna and Anne, and shouted above the din, "What I wouldn't give to be on deck!"

"Tom Sparrow, don't you dare leave this cabin!" Suzanna shouted back, rescuing a beautiful blue and white china bowl in the nick of time.

"I won't!" Tom assured her. "Da told me to stay and take care of you both, and I mean to do it."

The three of them removed all the dishes and silver to a big basket Anatole had left for that purpose and put it on the cabin floor. Then they retreated to the captain's wide, luxuriously appointed and well-padded bunk, making themselves as comfortable as possible. Attached to sole and bulkhead, the bed seemed the safest place to be at a time like this.

Suzanna lay among the pillows, watching the hanging lamps swing in wide arcs. The rain beat down the stern windows in relentless sheets, and the deafening blast of wind and sea was almost more than was bearable. But even worse were the thunder and lightning, which had moved directly overhead, now, each flash and crackling boom so close together that they seemed simultaneous. Poor Anne was inclined to be frightened, but Tom hugged her, laughing. His unconcern was no help to Suzanna, however. Concern for those on deck (_Michael! Dear God, keep him safe! __All __of them safe!_), combined with the terrifying noise and motion, took its toll and she found herself squeezing her eyes shut, hands tight over her ears, trying not to weep.

And then there came a booming crash, an explosion, dwarfing all that had gone before, and at the same time the _Black Pearl_ gave a horrid lurch and shudder.

Even the insouciant Tom was shocked. "Bloody hell, we've been hit!" he cried, springing up, abandoning his post and running for the door before Suzanna could stop him.

"Tom, _no!_" she shouted, trying to sound authoritative, but to no avail, and Anne began to sob as the wretched boy slipped carefully out the cabin door.

**o-o-o**

Two minutes later the door slammed opened to admit a great deal of wind and rain and Captain Jack, a look of almost maniacal fury on his face, his struggling son slung over his shoulder. They were both streaming water, and when Jack dumped Tom on the floor a puddle was already forming.

Tom instantly flipped over and shouted, "But Da, I can _help!_"

"_Not on deck!_" Jack roared, far louder, and he raised his arm and pointed a finger of doom at Tom. "By God, I'll deal with you later, and that's a promise!" Then he forcibly straightened his hat, turned, and strode out, slamming the doors behind him.

Tom put his hands to his head and just sat, and Anne, who'd been clinging to Suzanna, first terrified at Tom's defection, then horrified at the manner of his return, clambered off the bed and ran over, falling to her knees beside him, oblivious to the spreading puddle. Suzanna followed somewhat more carefully, for the deck was heaving dreadfully.

"Tom, what happened?" Anne asked, her voice cracking.

The boy looked up at her and tried to smile, but it faded as he spoke, "The mainmast was struck. There's nothing left but a shattered stump. And there were some fellows hurt, burns and splinter wounds and the like, and one man killed."

"Killed! Who?" Suzanna demanded in dismay.

"His name was Beech, new to the _Pearl_, came on about a month ago." His mouth twisted, and he suddenly hugged Anne to him, half hiding his face against her hair.

Tears were streaming down Anne's cheeks, and she bit her lip, stroking Tom's damp head, but she didn't fuss, just held him close. It was exactly the response Tom seemed to need, and Suzanna found herself hoping that their affinity and deep affection would endure as they left childhood behind.

After a minute or so, Tom pulled himself together. Anne sat back and said, "You're all wet, you know."

He laughed at that. "So're you! And we'd better get this puddle swabbed, Da wouldn't like… ." His voice died away.

"He was awfully angry, wasn't he?" Anne ventured after a moment.

Tom gave another chuff of laughter, but there was no humor in it. "I'm for it now, I reckon."

Anne paled.

But Suzanna said, briskly,"You've tried his patience, but he was speaking in the heat of a truly terrible moment. I daresay he'll be less angry with you later, particularly if you mind your duty."

**o-o-o**

Suzanna was correct, but though Jack's anger had cooled he would certainly have carried out his promise that very evening if he hadn't been so bone weary.

The storm had finally blown itself out in the late afternoon, and after dropping poor Beech over the side - decently sewn into a hammock with a couple of round shot at his feet - the _Pearl_ had limped to an island Jack knew of, anchoring in a cove that lay several miles distant from the indigenous inhabitants ("Just a few natives, mostly friendly, no cannibalism – I think."). It was dusk by that time, and there was still all the work of bringing order out of the chaos to which the _Pearl_ had been reduced, as well as scouting out the local environment and setting up a camp on shore where the injured would have an easier time of it while the ship was undergoing repairs.

During this activity, Jack hadn't seen his son, though Suzanna assured him that Tom had been most attentive and somewhat subdued after his return to the cabin.

"He'll be subdued, right enough, when I get through with him," Jack said, but he wasn't surprised when Suzanna spoke up for Tom.

"Forgive me, captain, but I don't believe he wished to vex you, he truly wanted to help."

"He wanted to be nosy," said Jack.

"We were _all_ most concerned!"

"You didn't _all_ disobey orders and come barreling out on deck in the middle of it!"

But her words had a palliative effect, nonetheless.

However, long after dark, he finally came across Tom and Anne as they were scurrying along a dimly lit passage on one of the lower decks. Anne was in the lead and, when they saw him and came to a halt, Tom made no effort to step forward in front of her. Jack said, "Taking refuge behind a lady's skirts, eh? That ain't going to help your case."

"I am not!" Tom said, sounding only a little terrified. "Were you… do you want to see me in the cabin?"

"No, not just now. There's still work to be done, and I'm already too tired to do justice to the occasion." Tom shifted nervously and Jack, urged on by his baser self, favored his son with a humorless smile. "Plenty of time in the morning to settle accounts. As it were. Sleep well!"

**_TBC_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

Charles and Lucia Norrington, along with their three month old son, Francis Michael, had returned to Port Royal the week following the departure of the _Black Pearl_, but though Harry had encouraged her brother to do the same ("Indeed, Weatherby, you are very kind, but you must not continue to neglect your duty to the citizens of Port Royal on _my_ account!"), Governor Swann had weighed the matter in his ponderous fashion and Family Obligation had tipped the scale. He trusted his staff to see to things in Jamaica and he would stay on at St. Claire, a prop to his little sister in her time of need.

Harry tried to be amused by his complacent presumption, but failed much of the time.

Jack had been gone ten days when she said to Elizabeth, with some asperity, "I can't imagine what your father thinks he could do to help were I brought to bed untimely. And I am still perfectly capable of managing affairs on St. Claire!"

"Don't worry, Aunt, Giles Lightfoot has taken him off your hands today," Elizabeth replied, somewhat absently, for the governor's grandson, her darling nine month old William Weatherby, was eagerly partaking of his breakfast as she rocked him in the warmth and light of the morning room.

"Is that where he's gone?" Maggie said as she came in, looking so tall and elegant and composed that Harry gave a discouraged sigh.

"Oh, dear. What was that phrase of Suzanna's? _You make me feel a positive lump_?"

Maggie shook her head, lips pursed against laughter. "For shame, Harry! Do bear up. It's only a few more weeks."

"I'm afraid I'm ready to be done now, however," Harry said, with a roll of her eyes. By way of changing the subject, she asked, "How do my godchildren fare this morning?" Maggie and James's twins, Henry James and John William, each had a toddler's talent for keeping a household on its metaphorical toes.

"They are being quite angelic this morning, as is Julietta. She is feeding them porridge and milk and says she will take them out to build a sandcastle after that, so I am free to break my fast with you. Do Weatherby and Giles plan to join us?"

"No, they've ridden off, gone over to inspect some of the more distant settlements on the north side of the island. We'll have a quiet afternoon, all to ourselves."

In this, however, Harry was mistaken. An hour later the three ladies were lingering over the remains of their repast when there came a brief knock on the door and Rachel gleefully announced Mr. O'Brien of the _Black Pearl_.

Harry almost dropped her cup as he entered the room. "O'Brien! How did you get here? Is the _Black Pearl_ back?"

"No, ma'am," O'Brien said, taking off his hat and bowing to her. "There was a bit of a dust-up, what with the weather and some ugly customers we ran across when we were stopped for repairs. The long and short of it is, we took a prize, as pretty a cutter as you could wish for. The admiral's going to keep her as a tender for the _Dauntless_, and Captain Jack, he sent her back with me in charge of the prize crew, and with letters for you ladies, as well." He pulled a sheaf of envelopes from an inner pocket of his coat.

"Oh, let me see!" Harry sprang up.

As he handed Harry her letter, O'Brien said quietly, "He sends his dear love," and what with those words, and the sight of Jack's seal and her name written in his beautiful, spidery handwriting, tears briefly blurred her vision. She went to sit on a chair by the window and spread out the pages.

_Parrot Cove, Sweets Island_

_Dear Mrs. Sparrow,_

_I trust this finds you well and enjoying your visit with Maggie and Elizabeth (and your brother– don't let him drive you distracted). _

_The pleasure cruise you foretold has so far failed to materialize and as a result we have been delayed by a week. Two days out we encountered a lightning storm that destroyed the mainmast. There was one dead (his name was Beech, new to the Pearl), and six injured, as well, so we ran for Sweets Island (it's not on the map, so don't bother looking), and have been laid up here in Parrot Cove (nice place, sandy beach bordering some pretty tropical forest – you'd like it, particularly the hot springs pool that's a short hike from here, an ideal spot for getting reacquainted, if you know what I mean), making repairs to both ship and crew. _

_The cutter's a gift from your son, as he spotted it first. While the storm raged (quite spectacular, give you my word), I'd ordered him to stay in the cabin with Suzanna and Anne, but when he heard the noise of the mast shattering he came running out and was near swept away __again__, the waves were washing over the deck something fierce. Later, after we got the Pearl settled in Parrot Cove, I __promised__ threatened him with a dire reckoning in the morning, but I was up and doing for several hours before I remembered – or James reminded me, really – and by that time both Tom and Anne had scarpered, tricked Gibbs into taking them over to the island and then went off exploring on their own. You may imagine my feelings on that score. And James's. Will laughed (I wager he'll be laughing out the other side of his face in a couple of years) but offered to go hunt them down while we continued work on the ship._

_I daresay you'll be relieved to hear Tom and Anne's skins are quite intact. Will found them and they all came running back with a tale of some very nasty doings, Spanish renegades had taken over the native village that lies some distance around the island from Parrot Cove and were enslaving and abusing the inhabitants. Will told us about their cutter, too, and how it looked to be riding low in the water. All in all it seemed worthwhile to investigate._

_We took a fair sized company, armed to the teeth, of course, and it ended with a nice little contretemps in which we emerged victorious, freeing the inhabitants and taking the cutter with its not inconsiderable cargo – the Spaniards had been busy for some time, it seems. And I have to admit it was fortuitous that I allowed Tom to come along on the expedition. I instructed him to stay hidden, but he was armed with his knife and all that practice he's been doing paid off. I was in the middle of a scuffle and caught my heel on a tree root, and Tom jumped out, threw his knife, and sunk it deep in my opponent's shoulder, tipping the scales. Tom's a good lad. Most of the time._

_The people of the island gave us a celebratory feast and have been helping us with the Pearl, and our injured, too; they employ some very efficacious remedies. Both ship and crew should be fit to sail tomorrow, but I'm sending the cutter back to you, along with this letter. Let me assure you, we shall make all haste to Barbados - be back before you even miss us._

_With warmest affection, I am as ever, etc.,_

_Jack_

Harry wasn't certain if she was thrilled or appalled at this informative missive, and she looked up to observe Maggie's reaction to the letter James had sent. Her friend was smiling as she finished it. Harry asked, "How is Anne doing, Maggie?"

"James says she is thoroughly enjoying the adventure. I'm so happy I allowed her to go. "

"Will writes that Tom has been leading Anne astray," Elizabeth said, and Harry was envisioning what she'd say to Will Turner, Tale Bearer, when next they met, but then her niece added, "He does not go into detail, however. Did Jack say anything about them? Aunt Harry? Is something wrong?"

Harry straightened abruptly. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all." And she put on her best smile by way of proof.

**o-o-o**

On this last beautiful evening at Parrot Cove, Sweets Island, Suzanna Owens should have been filled with contentment, considering the amazing events she'd been a part of in the last week. The crew of the _Black Pearl_ had earned the gratitude of the people of Sweets Island, the defeated renegades having been locked in the _Pearl_'s brig to be turned in to the authorities in Georgetown, Barbados. The _Pearl_ herself was now repaired and more beautiful than ever. All the men who had been injured in storm or raid were healing well. And everyone else, including herself, had benefited from the hospitality of the inhabitants, who had not only given them a wonderful feast to celebrate the defeat of the Spaniards, but had taken great pleasure in showing off many aspects of their lives and their island home. Sweets Island might be small, but it was a lovely place.

Particularly the hot springs pool.

She'd been drawn to the pool from the first time she'd seen it, but when one of the women – a girl, really, though already a wife and mother – communicated to Suzanna that the warm waters were said to be particularly beneficial to females of childbearing age, healing and promoting life, an idea had taken root and the fact that it had not yet born fruit distressed her.

It had been more than a year since she'd lost her first child. It had been a terrible experience, to be sure, but she'd been attended by Lady Harry and Elizabeth Turner – for they'd all been returning from Italy on the _Black Pearl_ – and she had healed now, quite thoroughly, in body and mind, and was ready to try again. Unfortunately, Michael had other ideas.

She knew that Michael's care of her, his restraint, his patience, was a sign of his love for her. Somehow he had gained a great deal of knowledge in the ways a man could give and receive satisfaction without endangering his bride with an ill-timed pregnancy, and they were delightful indeed. But this past week, watching the native women interacting with their darling children, and flirting with their men, Suzanna's longing for a child, and for more complete relations with her husband, had not only revived but had reached a fever pitch.

She rose from where she was sitting, on a rock at the edge of the cove. The sun would soon set. Michael was among those loading the last of the boats for the short journey out to the _Black Pearl_, but there were plenty of men to help, and Captain Sparrow himself was in charge. Taking a deep breath, her heart thudding, she walked purposefully up the beach, passing close to where Michael was working, and then on toward the forest.

o-o-o

"Where's your wife headed?" asked the captain.

Michael looked up from the knot he was tying and saw Suzanna, up the beach now, headed toward the forest. "I don't know!" he replied, bemused. He called sharply, "_Suzanna!_", but she made no reply, just kept walking. A slow sway of skirts. Pale hair glinting in the light of the Westering sun. "What's gotten into her?" he wondered aloud, then looked at the captain and found the kohl-rimmed eyes sparking with amusement. "What?" Michael demanded.

"You _are_ slow on the uptake today," Jack said, and grinned. "I'll bet me boots she's off to that hot springs pool, the one the native women were on about."

Michael frowned. "She knows we're catching our tide in two hours."

"That's the plan. So you'd best move along, eh?"

Michael felt his face getting warm. He cleared his throat. "I'll go fetch her."

"Aye. Or she'll fetch you." Jack winked.

And now it was Michael's turn to grin. "Thanks, Captain. We'll be back in time," he said, and he turned to trot up the beach after his wife.

**_TBC_**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_**

It was with some trepidation that Joshamee Gibbs retraced his steps, hurrying back to where the _Black Pearl_ was docked in the busy harbor at Georgetown, Barbados. Home to many a wealthy plantation owner, as well as to a mighty naval presence, the town had put forth some effort in making the piratical ship and her people welcome. The _Pearl_ was well-known here, having served England under a letter of marque for near ten years now, for Jack had turned privateer for Lady Harry's sake on the occasion of their marriage.

Josh remembered how they'd all wondered about it at the time, that bid for respectability, but it had turned out to be a good decision for everyone concerned. Professionally speaking, Jack Sparrow had been in no way tamed, and James Norrington had always been a force to be reckoned with. Allied, the two had defended England's interests with a nearly unstoppable zeal, and made themselves and their crews rich into the bargain. Josh had lost count of the prizes and treasure they'd captured – he was sure his banker could enlighten him, but it'd been some months now since they'd met and it was surprising how fast interest accrued – but the adventures they'd had in the taking of all that wealth were such a joy to tell they were almost worth more to him than the gold. It had been a fine day for Joshamee Gibbs when Jack Sparrow and Will Turner had come to find him napping with the friendly pigs of Tortuga.

This day, however, was not turning out to be fine, by anyone's measure.

The town's greeting had done little to ease Jack's worry and ill humor, for after being delayed by a week due to that storm, they'd been becalmed a day out from Sweets Island and now were considerably behind schedule. When the wind petered out and the sea turned almost to glass, they'd tried the old remedies, whistling and plucking at backstays, but they'd done no good. Fishing over the side had soon grown tedious, too, so Jack had ordered out the sweeps. They'd manned them in shifts, and there wasn't a hand on the ship that wasn't well blistered by the time the wind finally picked up again some four days later, save Anne's, the lass being too small to be anything but a hindrance in that work, and Suzanna's – and hers were preserved only at the cost of some interesting argumentation between husband and wife. Suzanna was getting mighty strong-willed of late, though Michael Owens didn't mind it much, from all the signs. He'd been heavy-eyed all week, but he'd worn a smile, too, and whether his pretty Suzanna pouted or drifted about in a dreamy abstraction, there was a fine color flying in her cheeks, and her hands remained noticeably intact.

Even Jack had been amused at his protégé's marital perambulations, but he'd become more and more fretful at the delay in the _Pearl_'s progress until now, fully seventeen days after he'd bid adieu to his darling Harry, all he wanted was to touch and go at Georgetown, getting rid of the Spanish prisoners as quick as maybe, hustling Madame Juju onto the _Pearl_, and heading out again at top speed.

But Madame Juju would not be hustled.

"You _dare_ to demand that I take ship to attend _one_ woman, a woman in excellent health on whom the stars of good fortune shine so that she is able to command any luxury, when so many need me here?"

Madame's eyes had flashed in so fierce a way that Josh had stepped back a pace. "I wouldn't say _demand_…"

"Would you not?" she snapped. "Would your captain not _demand_, if he had come here himself, instead of sending a hapless minion?"

"_Hapless minion? _Now hold on—"

"No! _You_ hold on! Or you will be less a hapless minion than a wart-covered _toad!_"

Josh's eyes had widened at that. He'd seen too much not to take the words of an obeah woman in a serious light. He shut his mouth.

"That's better," Madame Juju had said, slightly mollified. "You will return to Jack Sparrow. Tell him that if he wishes to make a request of me he will make it himself – and even then I make no promises. He may not be able to afford what I ask. Tell him I will see him this evening. If I am not called away."

"And if you are?"

"Then he can _wait_."

_Lord_, Josh thought, _Jack's not going to like that_, and as he strode along he tried to figure a way to soften the message. He was still figuring when he arrived on the dock and noticed Will and Jack descending the gangplank, followed by a considerable number of the crew. Will looked somewhat amused, but rolled his eyes in warning.

"Jack, what happened?" Gibbs asked.

"Tom, again," Jack said, shortly. He pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his coat and handed it to Gibbs.

Gibbs read it, and smiled. "Why, he's just taken Anne to see that nice little lad of Captain Oakes'." Tom and young Stephen Oakes had become friends in the two weeks the _Pearl_ had lingered in Georgetown, after Elizabeth Turner had been delivered of her babe, nine months ago now.

"Aye. Without asking leave. _Again._ And when Will went to the Oakes' place to fetch him, so the Mannings wouldn't be exposed to the sight of the filicide that seems bloody written in the stars, he wasn't there. He and Anne never arrived."

"Saints above! They're missing again?"

"Since before you left to go see that harpy, by the evidence. Speaking of which, what did she say? When's she coming?"

Gibbs cleared his throat. "Well, Jack, she called me a hapless minion and threatened to work a spell that'd turn me to a toad, but you can go see her tonight. It's all arranged."

Jack took in the gist of this and, to Josh's relief, only looked ready to explode for about half a minute before he shook himself, briefly closed his eyes, opened them again, and said, "Right. Let's go find the brats. It seems I've somewhere to be tonight."

**o-o-o**

Tom and Anne had indeed left the ship very early, and they'd meant to go straight to Stephen Oakes' house. It was about a half mile from the harbor, but Tom was sure he remembered the way, and he'd brought his knife along, just in case, the same knife with which he'd saved his father's life on Sweets Island. But it was market day in Georgetown, the merchants were setting up their stalls in the cool, sunny morning, and it transpired that Anne had never in her life been allowed to wander through a market quite at her leisure. Tom hadn't either, but he'd never seen it as the vital issue it seemed to be with his friend.

"Oh please, Tom, do let's stay! I'm always with Mother or one of my sisters when I go, and they never want to look at the things I want to see."

"Well, all right, we can stay a while, at least," Tom said. "It would be better if we'd brought some money, though. I'm starved."

"I have money," said Anne, and she dug into the pocket of her dress and triumphantly pulled out three silver pennies, much to Tom's delight.

"That'll buy us breakfast!" he said, and with great glee they began to wander among the stalls where food was being sold. After some successful haggling, they purchased some fresh rolls, fragrant with subtle spices, two bananas, and a large mango, and went and sat on the grass in the shade of a nearby palm tree. Anne thought the rolls were the best she'd ever eaten, and Tom got to use his knife to skin the fruit. The bananas were easy enough to eat neatly, but even in slices the mango was so juicy that they were quite sticky by the time they'd finished.

"Let's go wash, you're all over crumbs," said Tom and led the way to a clear stream that ran beside the green where the market was situated.

It was while they were washing – and splashing each other, too, for the air was already warm and the fresh water felt delightful – that the mishap occurred. Anne, hearing some raucous shouts and a frantic yelping, stopped splashing, stood alert for a moment, then cried, "Oh! Oh, Tom, they're hurting it!" and took off up the bank of the stream. Tom followed close behind, and had an unworthy moment when he saw that it was a group of boys, older and bigger than himself. But they were tormenting a bedraggled little dog. It couldn't get away, for they had tied a string around its neck, and when he heard one of the brutes say something about setting it afire he, too, put aside trepidation.

"Stop it! _Stop it_," Anne shrieked, and ludicrously brave, she dashed in among them as they stood agape.

"What the deuce?" said the biggest boy, who held the dog's string, and he pushed Anne down roughly when she tried to grab it.

She bounced up immediately, too angry to care for her own hurts, and yelled, "You let it go or I'll tell my father and he'll give you a short drop and a sudden stop!"

The boy laughed derisively. "Get out. Hanged for ridding the world of a filthy cur? And who's your father, anyway? Bet you don't even know, little _trollop_."

Anne might not know what that meant, but Tom did and he pulled her aside, giving her arm a warning squeeze. He said to the boy, coldly, "Take that back, you cow-hearted blackguard."

"And why should I?" the boy jeered, and briefly turned to one of his friends, giving over the dog's string. "Hold it while I give this babe a lesson he won't forget."

But when he turned back, Tom punched his face, as quick and hard as he could.

The boy howled and staggered back, his hands to his bleeding nose; his friends stopped long enough to assess damage, and the one holding the dog's string dropped it; the dog took off like a shot, and so did Anne, chasing after it down the stream bank, back toward the market; and Tom, after standing amazed for a moment at his unexpectedly spectacular success, turned and ran, too, for his father had told him to always weigh the odds and act accordingly.

"_Get 'im!_" came a bubbling roar from behind, and Tom sped up, grabbing Anne's hand as he passed her. Reaching the edge of the market, the little dog at their heels, they burst into the commons and frantically looked for a place to hide.

"Come on!" Tom bent and grabbed up the dog, who was like to make them trip, and jerked Anne along after him. The three of them ducked between two stalls just before the mob of young heathens entered the square.

"Here, Tom Sparrow!" said a deep voice. It was a huge black man, the vendor in the stall to their right, which featured a fine array of things for kitchen or galley, everything from big pots and pans to bundles of dishcloths. The man gave Tom a wink and swept an inviting hand toward the space beneath his cloth-draped table.

There were some boxes and baskets crowded under the table, but there was enough room for two children and one disreputable-looking little dog to hide. And they did.

**o-o-o**

It was some time later when their savior's rumbled, "You can come out now, Tom Sparrow. They've gone home to clean up. You draw that boy's cork for him?" The black man grinned.

"Aye," said Tom, giving Anne a hand. "Who are you, and how do you know me?"

"Name's Ben. Came out to the _Black Pearl_ and sold your daddy's cook some spices and fine pots, last time you all were here. "

"That's Anatole, he's with us this time, too. Are you going to visit him again?"

"I'm thinking I just might have to. How is it you and this sweet young thing step out alone? What's your daddy going to say about that, eh?"

"We're going to visit Stephen Oakes. I left a note for Da, he'll be good with it."

"That right?" Ben looked skeptical. "Wish I had a mirror on me. Neither of you look ready to go a-calling."

Tom frowned, and he and Anne looked each other over. Ben was right.

Anne said, "Maybe we'd better go back to the _Pearl _and visit Stephen another day. We need to wash Mimi, too."

"Mimi?"

"That's her name." Anne patted the little dog on its head. It looked up at her with adoring eyes, its pink tongue lolling.

"How do you know it's a girl?"

"By her paws, of course."

Tom frowned, but Ben chuckled and said, "Look here, maybe I close up shop early today, say in an hour, and see you two back to the _Black Pearl_, and pay a call on Anatole. Think you can stay out of trouble that long, eh?"

**o-o-o**

James Norrington was sitting in an armchair on the quarterdeck of the _Black Pearl_, enjoying the late November sun and the satisfaction of a task accomplished. The Spanish renegades that had been captured on Sweets Island were now out of the _Pearl_'s brig and delivered up to the authorities. Both these circumstances would make Jack happy. He used the _Pearl_'s brig of necessity, but James knew it made his friend extremely uncomfortable to do so, having been a prisoner there himself once upon a time. And turning men over for probable hanging went against the man's grain for approximately the same reasons. Carrying a letter of marque was the closest Jack would ever come to sacrificing his freedom, and it was only his love of Harry that made that concession tolerable. James hoped Harry would live many long years, for he dreaded to think that Jack might ever again turn pirate, forcing James to exert himself in capturing one who had become dear to him, unless the _Black Pearl_ left the Caribbean to hunt other waters. In either case, his friend would be lost to him.

But these morose thoughts had no place on so beautiful a day. James sipped his coffee and looked out along the busy quay, and presently a trio of distant figures caught his eye, a big black man and two smaller figures. And a dog.

Anne and Tom.

Frowning, he rose and went to stand at the top of the gangplank to receive them.

Anne saw him and came running, pulling the dog along on a string. James wrinkled his nose at the dog's appearance. And at his daughter's.

"Papa! This is Mimi, Tom and I saved her life, they were going to _burn_ her!"

"What? Who were _they?_ Where have you and Tom been this morning?"

Anne began the explanation, and Tom joined in when he arrived, their escort bringing up the rear – or their savior, from the story James was told.

As it ended, Ben said, "I do hope the captain'll go easy on the lad. He's a right one."

James shook his head. "He is, but this isn't the first time he's left his post without leave, nor even the second. I know what I should have to do in such a case, were I in command."

Tom's smile had faded and Ben shook his head. Anne looked suddenly frightened, and stepped close to Tom, taking his hand.

"I left, too, Papa," she said in a small but resolute voice.

James arched a brow at his daughter. "So it seems. We'll have to discuss that presently."

"But can I keep Mimi?"

"Perhaps. We'll ask the captain. But not just now, I think." And James nodded at the distant quay, where Jack and several of the crew had just appeared, making their way back to the _Black Pearl_.

**o-o-o**

Jack didn't wait on the midwife that evening. He'd spent the afternoon alone, walking, and the evening alone, too, in a small tavern on the outskirts of Georgetown, and he'd had more rum than was good for either himself or Madame Harpy. Yet, though he'd manifested the usual physical effects, his mind was not eased, and that had been the whole point.

To be sure, he'd let Tom give him an explanation, after hauling the boy into the Great Cabin by his ear and slamming the doors against James's sympathy and little Anne's terrified sobs. But the outcome had been a given, and five minutes later, Anne Norrington wasn't the only one sobbing.

Bloody hell.

Jack had been too lenient with his son in the past, and as captain of the _Pearl_ that couldn't go on. He hadn't been lenient with him today, though he had, of course, taken into consideration that the boy wasn't quite ten years old. But though Tom had taken his punishment with resolution and a minimum of fuss, it had near killed Jack to give it, even angry as he'd been.

There was nothing for it. He would have to send the boy away. Apprentice Tom to some other captain, if he wanted to learn to be a sailor.

Tom was a brave lad. It was Jack who was the coward.

**o-o-o**

Jack was cold sober by the time he got back to the _Pearl_, around midnight. There was a bare bones watch on deck, and he returned salutes without a word or a look and went straight to his cabin.

Tom wasn't there.

Not that this was unusual. Tom often stayed below now, slinging his hammock with the crew, each of whom loved him as one of their own, not just as Jack's son.

Jack went out, crossed the deck, and descended by the companionway to where his men were sleeping, fewer than usual tonight as some had elected to take advantage of the diversions Georgetown had to offer lonely sailors.

But Tom hadn't slung his hammock. He wasn't here.

For a moment Jack felt a cold chill. What if Tom had jumped ship?

But Jack doused that twinge of panic. He wouldn't, not Tom. And there was one more place he might be.

Carrying a small darklantern, Jack descended soundlessly into the depths of his ship, every inch of which he knew like the back of his own hand. And there, deep in the hold where his son had once hidden as a stowaway, where generations of the _Pearl_'s ships' cats had made their home, Jack found Tom asleep, curled on his side on a bed of empty sacks.

There was a cat nesting by Tom's head, and two near his feet, but they moved away when Jack crouched, studying his son's face in the dim. He'd cleaned himself up, there was no dirt, no streaks of tears. But Jack fancied he saw something tragic in the set of his mouth and swallowed hard.

And Tom roused, opening his eyes. "Da!" he said, and started to roll over to sit up, then thought better of it with a decided wince.

Jack set the lantern on the boards and sat down himself, on the sacks where the one cat had been, and leaned back against the familiar black wood. And, as he'd done all his life, Tom came to him, came into his father's arms and laid his head down, against Jack's chest.

There were a few words, and perhaps a few more tears. But it was certain they stayed there, at the _Pearl_'s heart, resting, and eventually they both slept.

**_TBC_**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

Having lain abed until well into the morning, Yewande Zola and her two daughters were just sitting down to a late breakfast of calas and strong coffee on the veranda of her home. They had been called to attend a birth at one of the wealthier plantations on the previous evening, and the troublesome mite had been slow to leave her nest. She was a first child, and all their skill and patience had been called upon to keep the young mother's mind from fear and set on her task with the necessary fortitude. A favorable outcome had been achieved at last, however. The cries of the healthy newborn had sounded from the ornate bedroom shortly before dawn, and they had allowed the father in with the sun's first rays. He was rich and middle-aged, but his face had been ravaged with worry, and he had actually wept in relief that his bride was not only alive but able to smile wearily, now that it was over, and he didn't seem to mind that the babe was a daughter – didn't _mind_ the babe much at all, in truth, to the new mother's chagrin.

Yewande had assured her that this was an old story.

She had just been chuckling over this with her daughters when a group of visitors entered her garden gate, including another example of once heedless paternity: Jack Sparrow. The pirate had a hand on the shoulder of the very son he'd once ignored (albeit briefly), the boy that Yewande Zola had helped to bring into the world nearly ten years ago.

When the _Black Pearl_ had stayed a fortnight in Bridgetown nine months back, the ship having arrived a few hours before the birth of Will and Elizabeth Turner's son, Yewande had become reacquainted with Tom Sparrow. He was so like his father it always made her want to laugh (though she restrained herself at present, since she wanted the captain on the back foot in the coming negotiations). The slight, strong build; the silken black hair carelessly tied at his nape; the great, dark eyes set in a countenance that would break hearts—too pretty for a boy, Yewande had thought, until she'd perceived his bold spirit as well as hints of a strange, quicksilver grace: Tom Sparrow came by all these traits honestly, for they were still easily discernable in Jack Sparrow, despite his practiced disguise.

She glanced at the other visitors. Joshamee Gibbs was notably absent, but Will Turner had come today – Yewande deigned to smile, so polite and handsome a young man as he was—and James Norrington, whom she hadn't seen since Tom's birth, tall and distinguished, and now an admiral if she'd heard aright. And there was one other, a small girl with gold hair and a worried expression, who clung to Tom Sparrow's hand as though he were in danger of disappearing, while in her other hand she gripped a red leather lead that was attached to a hairy little dog.

They all stopped before the veranda, but Jack Sparrow took one more step forward, put his hands together and bowed. "Good morning, Madame Juju. Or… _afternoon_?"

Yewande narrowed her eyes. "Morning will do, since we three were up all last night, seeing a new soul into the world." And then she couldn't help it, she said fondly, "Tom Sparrow, come here and greet me properly."

The boy came up the steps of the veranda to her, and there was that crooked smile, but there was some shadow in his eyes, too.

They embraced, and she murmured, "My heart, you have gown! Tell me: your father takes good care of you?"

"Aye. He does, ma'am."

He straightened, but she kept hold of his hand and studied him closely for a moment. Then she nodded and rose, and she gently brushed back a lock of his hair that had strayed from its binding: a mother's caress. "Go to him, then," she said, releasing him, and watched as he returned to stand beside his father.

She spoke. "So, Jack Sparrow, you need all these fine folk to help you? You cannot come alone to ask for what you seek?"

To his credit, Sparrow didn't protest at this, or dissemble. He said, "Don't know if you'd heard, but Tom here might've had a sister five years old now if my wife had been fortunate enough to've had the favor of your presence and help, as we did when he came along."

Yewande shook her head. "Only God knows what might have been. But your lady told me this herself when you were last in Barbados, and your quartermaster said yesterday that she is once more with child after all this time."

"Aye, it's something of a miracle. She's due to be brought to bed in less than a month, Madame, and she begs you to come to her on St. Claire to attend her, as do I. We'll make it worth your while. Anything you like – name your price."

"I have plenty of wealth for my needs, Jack Sparrow, and I serve the women of Barbados. Your wife is but one woman, and she has health and riches aplenty. The babe will give her no trouble. My friend Rachel is there, and other experienced hands."

"Only God knows what may be, Madame Juju," Sparrow said, sly and pious, "and I promised my wife I would do what I could to persuade you. You have two beautiful daughters and you have taught them well. Surely they are capable of caring for the women of Barbados while you are away. Is there no treasure I can offer that will tempt you?"

Yewande's daughters might be out of her line of sight, but she sensed their amusement and she had to assume a scowl to mask her own. "Jack Sparrow, you are a cozening scoundrel," she told him, and then shook her head at his poorly suppressed delight in this epithet. Nevertheless, she went on. "Indeed, my daughters _are_ nearly as skilled as I. But the young mother we delivered last night must be watched carefully for a few more days, it was a hard birth and her first. Once she is out of danger, it may be that I can leave Barbados for a short time. But my price is high, though it has little to do with the kind of treasure you speak of."

"Well?" said Sparrow when she paused. "What is it?"

"There is a particular herb that I use much in my work, very rare and very effective. But my supply will soon be gone. Indeed, I may not have enough to aid me in attending your beloved wife. Therefore, if I come with you, you will first take me to the distant islands where this herb grows wild and you and your crew will help me harvest enough to last a year and a day."

"Distant?" Jack repeated, suspiciously. "How distant?"

"Oh, it will be as nothing for your _Black Pearl_, though for any other craft it might be a lengthy voyage. The islands are north of here, off the coast of Panama."

Jack's face fell, and his companions reflected the same dismay.

"Would we make it back in time?" Will asked Jack. "That _is_ the whole point, after all."

Norrington, who had been doing some mental calculations, said, "By my reckoning we should arrive home with at least a week to spare – if we aren't delayed again."

"Aye," Jack growled. "That's the question. And the way this voyage has been going so far…." He raised his voice. "You're sure you wouldn't rather have treasure, Madame Juju? I mean money, jewels, that sort of thing?"

She shook her head. "Not all treasure is silver and gold, Jack Sparrow, as well you know. Will you agree to my terms or not?"

He muttered something that she didn't quite catch, though she had no doubt of its profane nature. But then he nodded. "Aye. Agreed. Distant islands. Herbs."

"_And_ if we're to sail together, you will address me respectfully, by my real name."

"Your real name? It's not Madame Juju?"

"It is Yewande Zola."

"Ye-wan-de…"

"_Zola_."

"Right." He managed not to roll his eyes, though she saw that he was tempted. But he did add, "And if we're indeed to sail together, on _my_ ship, you may call me _Captain _Jack Sparrow_._"

Yewande condescended to bow, having foreseen this concession. "Very well, _Captain_. And now you and your companions will come sit in the shade with us and I will send for more breakfast – or lunch, if you think it more appropriate."

**o-o-o**

The _Osprey_ lay anchored in South Bay at St. Claire, within sight of Island House, and the ship's captain and two of his men were presently in the dining room enjoying a sumptuous repast with Weatherby, Giles and Miriam Lightfoot, Elizabeth, Maggie and Julietta. Harry, however, had elected to keep to her room, her frequent bouts of indigestion now precluding true enjoyment of Madame Guerinot's more spectacular dishes. Moreover, her back had been aching, and she had been feeling a little low in spirits, even before reading Jack's letter, which the captain of the _Osprey_ had brought her that afternoon. Now, lying upon her chaise, the cool evening breeze coming in the window, she found herself inclined to tears as she read it through yet again.

_Harry love –_

_The devil's in it that we've to take Madame Juju to some bits of island east of Panama to gather some sort of herbs before she'll come to you. She says she uses them in her work and that you'd need some, and that's the only thing she'd accept in payment. We leave tomorrow, finally, and with fair winds and a following sea we hope to be home a week before your daughter arrives on deck. As it were._

_We were becalmed for a few days on the way from Sweets Island to Barbados, and then have had to wait upon M.J.'s leisure, which circumstances added up to a considerable delay, on top of that incurred by that storm and our stay at Sweets. You may imagine my sentiments._

_Also, Tom contrived to cross the line one too many times the very day after we arrived in Barbados. I managed to do my fatherly duty toward him, but was brought so low thereby that I abandoned ship and sought solace in a bottle, which I haven't done in a good long while as you well know. Decided Tom should be prenticed out soon, you know we've spoken of it before, and though it's a good, reasonable decision, it has me so blue-devilled that I'm not fit company for man or beast these days._

_(And if you ask "What beast?" I shall have to refer you to Mimi, the romping swab of a canine that Tom rescued in the course of his illicit adventures. It's Anne's dog, now, James is letting her keep it, you can tell Maggie if he's not done so.) _

_Tom's fine, no worries, and sends his love to you. He has been a bit more mindful about following orders since the Fatal Incident, though that's probably due less to the thrashing I gave him than to Anne's strong objections to said thrashing, hysterics ain't in it, give you my word. Now she "hangs on him like a disease", as the Bard wrote. She and Tom have been having a grand old time since we made our pact with M.J., taking in the sights of Bridgetown and the surrounding country with us, building sandcastles on the beach, etc. I caught him trying to teach her to slide down one of the Black Pearl's backstays a couple of mornings ago, and though I had to scotch that caper I made sure to express my admiration of her head for heights (I believe Tom had her up in the foretop at least once this voyage), and she's been slightly less inclined either to shrink away or to look daggers at me since, which is something of a relief._

_Captain Whitney of the _Osprey_ (nice little 18-gun brig) is leaving for Nassau within the hour and has kindly offered to stop at St. Claire with our letters, so I must end. We'll be off for these herbal islands in the morning, but God willing I'll see you in a fortnight and be there to offer you a hand to squeeze, at least in the first hours –you know that woman won't let me stay in the room for the actual event. (She says her real name is Yewande Zola, by the way, and insists I must call her that. Would you credit it, after all these years? Hope I can remember.)_

_I miss you, love._

_Jack_

As Harry finished reading, Maggie slipped into the room carrying a small tray of delicacies, but when she saw her friend she put the tray down quickly, closed the door, and came hurrying across the room. "Harry, my dear, what is it? James said only that they were a little delayed!"

Harry tried to smile as Maggie sat down beside her, but her brimming eyes now overflowed, and she gave a small sob and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. Maggie drew her close, making soothing noises, until Harry was able to gasp, "Oh, Maggie, I should never have sent him away. I miss him horribly, and it's all my own fault. And T-tom! _Tom!_" And she began to sob in earnest.

"Do let me see that letter!" Maggie begged.

Harry gave it to her, but as Maggie read it through the thought occurred that she wouldn't at all like the part about Anne sliding down backstays or going aloft, never mind her daughter's acquisition of a new pet, and it was this concern that allowed Harry to gain some control and stop crying.

"Well!" said Maggie when she had finished it.

"I'm certain Anne will be fine, Maggie."

"I'm certain of it, too, now that Jack is aware of the situation. But he had no business sending you a letter that he surely must have known would upset you. He should be thrashed himself, and so I will tell him when next we meet."

"Oh, no! Jack and I _must_ share our thoughts and worries without reserve. Why, we're apart for months at a time. Surely you and James write to each other in a similarly intimate vein?"

"James would never say anything to distress me on the very eve of giving birth to his child."

"Jack didn't mean to upset me. It's only that I haven't been feeling entirely well today."

"I know. I've brought you a light repast, Madame Louise made it with the greatest care so you must try to eat just a little of it so she will not be offended."

"I will. But it's not only that. I'm so uncomfortable, and all I can do is lay here like some hideous toad, waiting. My back hurts, too." She snuffled, thoroughly sorry for herself, and blew her nose.

Maggie smiled, but thankfully did not say Harry was being ridiculous. She folded Jack's letter and set it on the table, out of reach, and said, "Lie back and I'll bring the tray. You will feel better if you have something to eat and drink, and then I'll help you change into your prettiest nightgown and rub the ache from your back."

"Thank you, Maggie. And will you please go down and give my thanks to Captain Whitney for bringing the letters?"

"I certainly will," Maggie said, but she gave Harry a hug, and a kiss on her forehead first.

**_TBC_**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

Heaven knew Jack loved his wife, but there were times when he absolutely _adored_ her… times like this, when a trail of discarded garments marked their progress across the cabin… when his lips and _ooh_, much more _vital_ bits were hot from her kisses, kisses fierce and sweet, teasing… tempting… that made him bloody ache to touch, to hold, to _take_ her, right here… right now… save that he was tied, bound hand and foot, her knots surprisingly effective (clever lass, she _had_ been paying attention)… bound with silk: bright scarves she'd bought for this purpose that very afternoon, following a morning call she'd paid on that sloe-eyed Italian contessa, the wench she'd discovered to have been Jack's lover in one of his former lives, a time now of less substance than that filmy bit of robe that his darling was opening, slipping off, allowing to drift to the floor, save that the contessa had informed her of a few of the more exotic things she and Jack had done together, way back when, years before Harry's time, and Harry, wickedly curious and possibly just a trifle jealous, meant to try them out, one by one, please God, _yes!_ her fingers, her hair loose and drifting, her lips… tongue… _teeth…_

"Da! Da, wake up, we've raised the islands, they're on the horizon!"

Small hands gripped his shoulder, shaking him awake, and Dream Harry dissolved like a bit of mist in the sun and was gone. Jack uttered a whine of agonized frustration.

"Are you all right?" Tom asked, letting him go. "You said to come get you at once when we raised the islands."

"Aye," Jack acknowledged, his voice pitched far too high. He purposefully lowered it and said, "I mean, _aye!_ Give me a minute, will you? Or actually about fifteen, there's a good lad, go on deck and tell Mr. Gibbs I'll be up presently."

"Aye aye, sir!" Tom said with great enthusiasm and good cheer, and ran out of the cabin, slamming the door as he left.

Jack closed his eyes. _Harry_. Oh, bloody hell, what a state he was in, as bad as some green lad who'd just discovered the sweet torture of concupiscence, and the ways in which a woman could hold one in thrall.

Though of course she'd be fascinated to hear all about this, the dream and its inevitable aftermath, when he finally reached home to tell her. Might even prove inspirational, with her humors all running amuck, as they were wont to do in her gravid state.

Dream Harry drifted back into his head, beckoning irresistibly, and he sighed, and closed his eyes, following her.

**o-o-o**

It was more like twenty minutes later, but he climbed the companionway to the quarterdeck briskly and with a smile. "Good morning," he said to Gibbs, Michael, and Will; to Tom, who was leaning over the side, a glass trained on the island, he growled, "Lad, you drop my favorite spyglass in the drink and I'll toss you in to go fetch it, savvy?"

Tom scooted back instantly and turned to him. "Sorry, sir."

Jack held out his hand and Tom gave him the spyglass with alacrity.

The boy had certainly been on his best behavior these last few days – on his own at least, though Anne still seemed capable of leading him astray with alarming ease. The second afternoon out from Bridgetown, the two had been caught sunbathing in a secluded corner that was more or less screened by a sail, not a stitch of clothing between them. Scared at her father's expression (James could be deuced forbidding at times), but admirably determined, Anne had foiled Tom's attempt to take credit for the notion, asserting that it had been entirely her own idea.

Jack had been inclined to chuckle over it, but not so James, and the poor little lass's honesty availed her little. She'd copped it finely, much to Tom's distress, and the next day she'd been confined to the Great Cabin, reading aloud, practicing her letters, and doing sums under her father's exacting eye all the long, sunny morning, Mimi laying faithfully at her feet, then spent most of the afternoon working a sampler with the assistance of Suzanna's more sympathetic guidance, though the chit had to pull out half as many stitches as she set, and the much-abused piece of cloth acquired a stain or two due to pricked fingers. When they were all sitting down to dinner that evening, James commended Anne's progress and informed her that she would continue in this vein for several hours each day for the remainder of the voyage, a remark that James might have known would put her off her feed. After quietly moving her fish and rice around the plate for the best part of an hour, she was finally permitted to escape topside with her partner in crime, and it was a sadly subdued pair that sat down to watch the sunset, Tom's arm slipping around her comfortingly, her golden head drooping against his shoulder.

But it wasn't only consideration for Anne's fair hide – not to mention his own – that kept Tom to the straight and narrow of late: it was a gratifying concern for Jack's sensibilities, too. When Jack had returned to the ship in the wee hours following that fateful day in Bridgetown and found his son curled up with the cats in the _Pearl_'s hold, they'd talked a bit and it transpired that, during the course of Tom's long, anxious evening, James had told the lad how it had grieved Jack to be obliged to punish his son – which God knew was no more than the truth.

"The admiral's a smart man. I'd far rather have been thrashed myself," Jack had admitted. "But that wouldn't have done _you_ much good." Jack had given Tom a hug before going on to say, "I may be wrong, but I suspect that won't be the last such occasion between us, you being my son, and me being your father, and your captain, too, for now. But I'd count it a kindness if you could manage to make said occasions as few and as far between as possible."

"I will, Da – I _promise!_" Tom had told him, with great (and understandable) sincerity.

Tom also hoped to convince Jack he should not be apprenticed to another captain, for he'd been born on the _Black Pearl_, had known and loved her all his life, she was his home, as much or more so than was Island House on St. Claire. So the four days waiting on the midwife's pleasure in Bridgetown and the five days of the voyage to her Herbal Islands had been relatively peaceful, apart from Anne's sunbathing caper.

Speaking of which, the lass was now trotting up the companionway, sans canine (for Mimi had forgotten herself almost at Jack's feet the first day out from Bridgetown and had been summarily banished from the quarterdeck), but followed by her father, Suzanna, and Yewande Zola, and Jack noticed Anne's skin was noticeably sun-kissed, a pretty sight to him but he had to wonder what Maggie would say about it. "Good morning, Annie, how's the sampler coming along?" he asked her, and grinned as she wrinkled her nose most expressively in reply.

James said to Jack, "The islands are in sight?"

"Aye, five days start to finish, James. Two hundred miles a day, noon to noon, and we've barely had to adjust the sails. The _Pearl_'s a wonder, ain't she?"

"She is indeed, as is this weather. Our luck seems to have taken a turn for the better."

Jack felt a twinge of dismay, and Gibbs said, "Beggin' your pardon, Admiral, but you should know better than to tempt fate with such words."

"My apologies," James said, only a little ironical, for he was a sailor, too, and he knocked on the wood of the rail.

Jack nodded approval at this precaution, then turned to Yewande Zola. "And good morrow to you, ma'am." He gave her a slight bow, which she returned with that amused glance that never failed to unnerve him. They had gotten along tolerably well during the voyage. She'd deigned to be pleased with her accommodations – Gibbs had swung a hammock with the rest of the crew, freeing up his small cabin on the gun deck for her – and had taken the _Pearl_'s swift progress as a matter of course, having predicted it. The crew quite liked her, and respected her as a woman of medicine and magic, and had even taken to bringing any injuries or ailments to her to cure, but Jack was still wary of her, she was too bloody knowing for his taste, and he avoided her whenever possible, going aloft for long periods, or finding business to attend to in the Great Cabin.

Tom, of course, liked her, as did Anne. Yewande Zola said now, as the children gravitated toward each other, "And how are my chicks today? Are you both ready for adventures?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am!" Anne assured her.

But James said, "I don't know that you will be permitted to visit the island, Anne. Tom will do better without you, I believe."

Tom looked crestfallen at this, but it was nothing to Anne's expression of dismay. Jack saw that she was about to blurt out some ill-judged protest, guaranteed to set up her father's back, and he stepped quickly into the breech. "If you'll have it, James, they can both come with me. It ain't my idea of a good time to be picking herbs, no matter how efficacious. I'll point them out and they can do the picking, eh?"

James frowned, and eyed his daughter narrowly. "If I allow you to go, you must stay with Captain Sparrow, or with me if he no longer needs your assistance."

"Yes, Papa," she said, and looked so adorably contrite that Jack wondered at James's resolution in disciplining her – and wondered, too, how _he_ would ever manage with a daughter. It was bad enough having to come the moralist with young Tom, the son he loved with all his heart, when he was himself naught but a scallywag in privateer's clothing.

**o-o-o**

Jack gave orders to shorten sail as they cautiously approached their destination, for these were unfamiliar waters, but he shared the wheel with Tom, who had asked to be allowed to stay by his side. The lad had always had a good understanding, whatever the subject, but today Jack noticed he was more attentive than in the recent past – he dismissed Anne to start with, telling her to go tend Mimi and help set the table for breakfast (and though Anne had looked disappointed, she'd obeyed him quick enough – Jack wondered how much longer _that_ state of affairs would last). As a result, Jack found himself enjoying his role of instructor more than usual.

He explained in detail the many factors that must be considered in approaching an unknown shore, and let his son get a feel for the _Black Pearl_'s helm. "Firm, but gentle, that's the way… you have to sense her needs and act accordingly. She's a lady through and through, Tom. Treat her right and she'll give you her all."

Tom threw him a precocious grin at these remarks. "Are ladies all alike that way?"

And Jack chuckled. "Aye, they are."

In a little over an hour, the _Pearl_ dropped anchor off shore of the largest island in the group and, after seeing that all was secure, Jack and Tom repaired to the Great Cabin where Breakfast By Anatole had been laid out. It was a cheerful meal, and when it was over Jack cleared a space on the table, fetched paper and pen, and had Yewande Zola draw a picture of their quarry, which she did with surprising skill.

"It is found nowhere else that I know of," she said, "but it grows here in abundance, in the shade of the forested slopes. It should not take us more than a few hours to gather what I need."

"_Enough to last a year and a day_," Jack mused, recalling her words. "Most of the crew can help. The glass is still holding steady, so we'll just leave an anchor watch. I say let's get over there and get it done."

Then Gibbs said, with uncharacteristic imprudence, "We'll be able to sail on the evening tide!"

They all stared at him, even Mimi the dog.

"And _now_ who's tempting fate, Mr. Gibbs?" James drawled.

Gibbs, thoroughly shame-faced at his lapse, crossed himself.

**o-o-o**

Everything went well for the first hour.

Yewande Zola quickly found one of the required plants in a shady grove near the wide, white sandy beach, and as the boats arrived she sent everyone out in teams of two or three, with a basket between. Most were sent into the forests close at hand, but she told Michael and Suzanna Owens that there was a pool about a mile in, very secluded and fed by the island's only known waterfall, where there was an especially abundant growth of the herb, and ordered that the couple to take their time in harvesting there. James and Will went off together, up a heavily wooded slope, and Jack, Tom, and Anne went in more or less the same direction before veering off into a drier area where there was less undergrowth.

Jack was carrying the basket, as per the plan, and the children were doing the stooping and gathering with great glee – _so easy to please at that age_, Jack mused. The wood had a pleasant, earthy scent, and the sun filtered down through the trees in a delightful manner. There were some questionable looking plants in this drier part of the wood, horrid, low-lying spiky things, but these were easily avoided, the herbs in question preferring the shade of the tall trees. All was going along swimmingly, and their basket was nearly half full, when Jack heard some sounds out of his past, sounds that made the hair stand on the back of his neck: a snorting and the galloping of small, weighty hooves.

_Boar!_

It broke out of the underbrush, an enormous thing, rusty red with great curved white tusks, and headed straight up the slope toward Tom and Anne, who'd roamed some way ahead.

"_Tom!_" Jack's roar of terror and warning was almost a shriek. He threw down the basket and drew his cutlass in the same swift movement, and ran.

But Tom and Anne had heard and now saw their peril, and in one of those feats possible only when one's life was truly on the line, Tom leapt into the nearest tree and dragged Anne up behind him. A split second later, the huge, enraged animal charged over the spot where they'd been standing.

Balked of its prey, the boar wheeled, registered Jack moving toward it, and headed straight for him, red murder in its eye.

There was no tree near enough, so Jack readied his cutlass, dodged the monster smoothly and brought his blade down on the thick neck, not a killing blow, but the weapon stuck fast and was ripped from Jack's hand as the animal let out a horrible squeal, charging past, unable to stop on the slope. By the time it did, and turned, and was headed back, Jack had drawn his pistol. He took aim, fired, then threw himself violently to the side as the behemoth came on, seemingly unchecked. But Jack's aim had been true: another few yards and it dropped, sliding to a halt in a cloud of dust, stone-dead.

And then Jack roared high-pitched again, for he'd landed hard against one of those spiky bushes.

"Da!" yelled Tom.

Swearing a blue streak, Jack tried to loose himself enough to rise, but he seemed to be stuck fast to the thing. God alone knew how many of those spikes were embedded in his right hip and leg, but it felt like dozens from the pain. He set his teeth, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, then Tom and Anne arrived, looking horrified, and he managed to gasp a few words: "Get James and Will!"

**o-o-o**

"This is _your_ fault," Jack growled at James, who was sitting by him.

"Oh, really? I believe Mr. Gibbs must at least share the blame."

The admiral's expression of concern was marred by definite traces of amusement, now that they'd gotten Jack down to the beach and laid him on a blanket on his uninjured side. Yawende Zola had just finished examining him, and though there were at least fifteen inch-long spikes still deep in his arse and thigh, spikes that would need to be pulled out one by bloody one, she had concluded that he would certainly live to see Harry again, and might even be able to walk without a limp by that time.

She listed the things she would need with a ghoulishly professional air: her basket of medicines, a pair of fine, strong pincers, needles of various sizes and a lancet ("…just in case…"). "Bring materials to build a tent, too," she told Will, who was in charge of fetching everything from the _Pearl_. "It is not seemly that the captain undergo treatment where all can view his suffering." She turned to Jack. "You will bite hard on a piece of leather and it will soon be over. And of course you may have some rum, if you like, to cut the pain."

"If I _like!_" Jack's voice was a tortured squeak, and he was doubly glad he'd sent Tom and Anne off to build sandcastles when the woman had ordered him stripped of his breeches. "Rum, Will! Bring _lots_ of rum!"

Will grinned sympathetically. "Aye, aye, Captain. Anything else you'd like?"

James said, "We may as well stay the night here on the island, Jack. You'll be in no fit condition to do anything on the _Pearl_ until tomorrow at least, when you're somewhat recovered from the exigencies of your treatment. And you've kindly provided us with the means to hold a celebration honoring your feat and the conclusion of our herbal quest. "

"What the devil d'you mean?" Jack said, wincing and shifting uncomfortably, his mind taken up with his current pain and impending torture.

"The boar, Jack," James said, rather gently. "It was a _brilliant_ shot, right through the eye, Tom and Anne witnessed the whole thing and are busy telling everyone about it, and Gibbs and some of the others have gone back to bring the animal down here to the beach."

"Damnation, you're bloody right!" Jack said in something of a gasp. He briefly closed his eyes, gathering himself, then told Will, "Bring over everything we need. Everything, including Mimi for Anne. But above all, bring _Anatole_. By God, if we don't feast on roast pork with all the trimmings tonight, my name isn't Captain Jack Sparrow!"

_**TBC**_


	7. Chapter 7

My deepest thanks for reading and reviewing, and to Hereswith for beta reading!

* * *

**_Chapter Seven_**

The bow of the longboat ground into the sand of the beach at South Bay on St. Claire Island, and Will Turner was the first to leap out, heedless of the shallow water, for there was Elizabeth, waiting at the water's edge with a smile and open arms. Tom threw Anne an expressive roll of his eyes as his cousin and her husband embraced and kissed, and Anne winced slightly, with a glance at Michael and Suzanna, who were holding hands beside her. She and Tom had discussed the matter and had determined they would never allow themselves to become dead bores in their affection for one another, not even when they were grown and married.

Governor Swann was on shore, too, and Rachel was there, anxious to greet her friend, Yewande Zola. Giles and Miriam Lightfoot completed the welcoming party. But something seemed to be amiss. As the rest of those in the longboat disembarked, the greetings and the smiles on the well-known faces just weren't quite right, and disappeared entirely when they saw that Captain Sparrow was walking with a slight limp (for there'd been one deep-set thorn Yewande Zola had missed the first time she'd treated him, back on her herbal island, and that last one had finally been found and removed with some difficulty, and the infection cleansed, only two days ago).

"Jack, what happened?" Giles Lightfoot demanded. "Were you hurt?"

"I'm fine!" Captain Sparrow snapped. "Are _you?_ What the devil's wrong? Where's my wife?"

"Oh, Harry's fine, too," Mr. Lightfoot said, evasively.

And Governor Swann said, "Yes, indeed. Fine as fivepence, as they say."

Elizabeth gave each of the older men an exasperated look and said, "Nothing's wrong, Jack, and congratulations are in order. My aunt was brought to bed the evening before last, and your daughter was born yesterday, at dawn. They are both in good health, though my aunt was distressed she couldn't come down to the shore to greet you. But we persuaded her that you would much prefer that she not make the attempt. She and the baby are in your room at Island House, awaiting your presence."

Captain Sparrow appeared to be bereft of speech, and Tom gave a quiet, "Uh oh."

Anne's father chuckled, and said, "Oh, my God," and shook his head.

Will Turner laughed outright and clapped the captain on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Jack!"

Rachel looked worried. "Now, Captain, it's not as though it was something she could help. Babies arrive in their own time."

"Very true," said Yewande Zola. "Did I not tell you, Captain, that all would be well with your wife and child?"

Captain Jack gave the midwife an awful glare. And then he limped off up the beach, toward Island House, everyone else following in his wake.

**o-o-o**

Jack's limp grew more pronounced, contributing to his sense of ill use, the closer he got to the house. But when he was finally approaching the wide front porch with its welcoming double doors, Maggie Norrington came hurrying out, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at Jack's face and, completely ignoring her husband and daughter, said, "Jack Sparrow, if you think you're going to up to that bedroom to berate your wife for giving birth a day too soon I'll… I'll…"

"You'll _what?_" Jack demanded, having come to a halt.

"I… I don't know," Maggie admitted. "But I shall certainly think far less of you if you do! Why are you limping? You're not injured?"

"Am I not?" Jack fumed briefly, then told her, "James and Anne will doubtless take relish in relating that tale to you. Now step aside, Mrs. Norrington, I want to see my wife."

Maggie glanced worriedly at James, but then stood aside, allowing Jack to climb the steps, cross the veranda, and enter the cool foyer of the house.

Tom danced past him – "I'll tell her you're coming, Da!" – and ran on up the staircase. Jack followed more slowly, the climb being something of a trial, but he reached the top at last and continued down the long hall to the door of their bedroom that Tom had left ajar, pushed it open and paused, just inside.

"Jack!"

She was sitting up in their big bed, a mountain of freshly fluffed lace-edged pillows at her back, and more lace on the sleeves and low neckline of the dressing gown she wore, the one of deep blue patterned silk he'd bought her more than five years ago, against the birth of a daughter. She had never worn it, but had carefully wrapped it and stored it away in hope and faith.

She wore no cap, and her long, freshly brushed hair had not been pinned up. She looked absurdly young, and her expression of mingled joy and apprehension added to the effect. But he could not summon even the pretense of displeasure, joy and relief flooding his heart as he limped across the room to her. She held out her arms, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, close beside her and allowed himself the comfort of being gathered into her embrace and held for a long moment.

Finally she said, "My love, you're hurt," her voice quivering on the edge of tears.

She released him as he sat back. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

"It's not! Tom told me about the boar and… and your subsequent suffering. How very brave you were!"

Jack chuckled, but without much humor. "This, coming from you." He took up her hand and pressed his lips against it. "Let's see young Miss Sparrow, then."

There was one pillow on the bed next to her, on her other side, and Harry carefully picked up the swaddled bundle that had been resting there, watched by Tom. The lad said, as Jack took the small form in his hands, "She's pretty, Da. She _looks_ like a girl."

And it was true.

Jack had grown more used to babies in the years since Tom's birth, when he'd been so disconcerted at his son's unprepossessing appearance that he'd wondered how he and Harry had produced such a creature. But even so, when he looked into his tiny daughter's face for the first time, it seemed to him that she was an exceptionally beautiful example of the species. She wasn't squashed or red-faced at all, and the wide, deep blue eyes – the color of Harry's new gown - blinked up at him for a long moment, curiously alert. And then she gave a tiny yawn and closed those eyes, contented and trusting, her dark lashes lying against her cheeks, and Jack's heart was lost.

"Isn't she lovely?" Harry said. "And she's such a _good_ baby."

"She _is_ lovely, and so are you. Are you all right?" He looked up, studying Harry's face: a little pale, but even as he watched, the faint color in her cheeks grew more pronounced.

"I am. I tried to wait, truly, but… well, she insisted. How I wanted you in those first hours! But later, toward morning, I counted it a blessing you were still away."

Jack winced, remembering when Tom was coming into the world, the hours of worry, and then Harry's cries, echoing faint but clear from the _Pearl_'s Great Cabin in the final minutes, minutes that somehow had expanded to a hellish infinity. Perhaps she was right. But if so, it was an odd sort of blessing.

Harry took the baby from him and laid her carefully on the pillow again, in Tom's charge, then held out her arms. Jack embraced her once more with a sigh.

She said, "My dear, was your voyage very horrid?"

"Some of it was _very_. Other bits bordered on _extremely_."

"Oh, Jack!" Harry hugged him. "And all for me. All for me."

"It was, wasn't it?" He sat back, and a slow grin dawned, and he shook a finger at Harry. "You owe me, ma'am, and I shall have my revenge, see if I don't."

"Will you?" She chuckled, and grabbed the finger, and kissed it. "You may have it. Anything you like. I do owe you, so very much, all my gratitude and love. And, as you must know by now, I _always_ pay my debts."

**o-o-o**

The rest of the company had come in to assure themselves of the Sparrows' health and happiness, but it wasn't long before Yewande Zola shooed everyone out. "You may go as well, Tom Sparrow, for since I have made this long journey, I will examine your sister and her mother, and your father, too, he should not be limping as badly as he does, though it may be that he exaggerates his pain to gain sympathy."

This last teasing remark proved to have been impolitic, for Captain Sparrow became mulish and refused point blank to lower his breeches. "You've seen enough of me for the last week, and I'll be damned if I'll submit to any more torture at your hands. I'm just sore, is all, and no bloody wonder. Harry can take care of me, if anything needs to be taken care of. Go on and take a look at _her_. As you said yourself, that's why we brought you."

Yewande Zola pursed her lips and shook her head at such obstinacy, but complied, smiling inwardly at Jack's obvious concern for his wife as she carried out the examination. She was very pleased with what she observed in Harry. "You will recover quickly, but you must take care, resting when the child does. And I will have Rachel brew you a tea of the herb your husband was so kind as to enable me to gather, very useful in strengthening the blood, and preventing infection. You must take it three times a day for the next week, and he should take some as well, for it is true that he has endured much."

"Only if I can drink it with rum," Jack asserted. "But why's Rachel brewing it? Are you going somewhere?"

Yewande said, "Mistress Lightfoot has told me of a mother-to-be on the north side of the island, and has asked me to wait upon her. She is due at any time, and the women fear for her, she has had difficulties in the past. I may be gone for some days."

"That's poor Sarah Mitchell," Harry told Jack. "Yes, Yewande, do go to her! I told her of your skill when last we met, several months ago now. Just knowing you're there will be a comfort to her."

Yewande Zola smiled on Jack Sparrow's beloved. "You have a kind and generous heart, lamb."

"_Sparrow_," Jack said, straight-faced.

Yewande chuckled. "So she is. And now, let me see this beautiful chick you Sparrows have produced between you."

**o-o-o**

Tom was out in the stable, up in the hayloft, where he sometimes liked to sleep. There was a bright moon hanging in the sky, and many stars, but the whole plantation had retired early, it seemed, and his mother and father were taken up with weariness and with the care of his baby sister. _Marguerite Elizabeth Sparrow_. "Daisy, for short," Mother said, but Da, who'd been gazing dreamily at the sweet little face, murmured, "Lady Day, fairest in the land," and Tom thought that suited her best, particularly when she began to fuss, and then bawl, imperiously demanding to be fed.

He'd wondered if he'd be jealous of her, this small being that had inspired such anxiety and effort, and seemed likely to continue to do so for months, if not years, to come. But he found he wasn't jealous, not at all. In fact, it was rather a relief to have his parents' attention focused on her, rather than on him. He was growing up, now. He needed his freedom. And it wasn't as though she'd take his place in his parents' hearts and lives. She was only a little girl.

Speaking of which, the stable door was opening quietly, then closing again, and there were light footsteps headed in the direction of the ladder leading to his lair.

"Tom?" Anne called softly.

"Come up," he replied, not moving. He heard her climbing, and then her head appeared above the edge.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Thought I'd sleep out here tonight. Want to join me?"

She climbed on up and crawled over to him, saying, "Mother once told me – well, Julietta, but I was there, too – that a young lady of breeding wouldn't _think_ of sleeping with a gentleman before they were properly married. But I do think of it, when I'm with you. Is that very dreadful of me?"

"Of course not," he said, holding up the blanket and allowing her to slip in to lie beside him. "You're not a lady, not yet at least. And I'm more pirate than gentleman, and plan to stay that way. Pirates sleep with anyone they like. That's why Da turned privateer when he and Mother married. She'd be mad as fire if he slept with anyone else, now."

"Did he sleep with other ladies before they were married?"

"Of course. Dozens!"

"Are _you_ going to? Before we marry, I mean."

Tom laughed, but he found his face growing warm, too. "Not planning on it."

"But you might?"

"Well, not _dozens._ Now, Annie, don't look like that!"

"I can't help it. Perhaps you will come to love one of them, and forget me, and we won't marry at all!"

"Oh, rubbish."

"It's not, you know it's not. And _I_ want to be your best friend, always."

"You _are_ my best friend. It's just… I've heard… well, Michael said sometimes a man… has _needs_."

"Needs? What sort of needs_?_" she demanded, frowning.

Tom grimaced. Michael had only ever let slip the merest hints on this subject, and these had been in reference to other men, for he was himself entirely devoted to Suzanna—had been for time out of mind. But Anne expected an answer, and Tom couldn't admit he had not really understood what sort of _needs_ Michael was talking about.

Distraction was clearly called for, so Tom said, "I'll tell you what it is, Annie, we'll just have to marry young, that's all. As soon as we can, as your sister and Michael did, and Charles and Lucia. We'll marry, and I'll never look at another female again, long as I live."

"Do you promise?"

She looked so pleased and hopeful at the prospect that, though he was no longer a child and knew what promises meant, he could not disappoint her. Not his friend. His Anne. "All right, I promise. How's that?"

"It's… oh, it's _prime!_"

He gave a crooked grin. Prime, indeed, she'd got that bit of cant from Charles, no doubt. She reached for his hand, and he gave it to her, and returned her squeeze. Then, the matter resolved, he yawned. "Silly chit. Now go to sleep. I didn't invite you to come up here so you could keep me awake all night with your chattering."

"Yes, Tom," she said, meekly, and closed her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips as she settled herself beside him in the hay.

**~ The End ~**


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